young, professionally dressed woman by the arm and led her to the center of the room as if she were on display.
“For those of you who haven’t met her before, this is Reese McGraw, assistant manager at Southern Arizona Bank and the trustee of August Dempsey’s estate.”
* * *
“THANK YOU.” REESE accepted the cup of coffee Raquel Salazar offered and smiled in appreciation. Other than the attorney Hector Fuentes, Gabe’s mother was the only one to show Reese any friendliness so far.
It was to be expected. Even under normal circumstances, no one in the Dempsey or Salazar families would be pleased to welcome her, the daughter of Theo McGraw. To learn she was the employee at Southern Arizona Bank in charge of overseeing August Dempsey’s estate, well, it must be a shock.
Gabe’s features hardened each time he glanced at her, which was often. If he was trying to scare her off, it wouldn’t work. Reese was here to stay.
It was, she mused, a far cry from the way he’d looked at her yesterday while waiting for her father and Enrico to arrive with the truck and trailer. When he’d buttoned her into the rain poncho, she swore the heat of attraction had flared in his eyes. Not to mention his touch lingered far longer than necessary.
The poncho had kept her warm, all right. That, and the effects of his proximity.
Reese silently scolded herself, alarmed by the direction of her thoughts. She’d known Gabe most of her life, but not once entertained any romantic notions about him. What had changed since their last conversation twelve years ago? Was it her or him?
“You are welcome,” Raquel said in her lilting Hispanic accent. “How is your father doing? He looked a little pale yesterday at the service.”
Reese gave a small start. Raquel had noticed her father’s appearance? Surely, she’d had much, much more on her mind at the funeral than Theo McGraw. Reese swallowed. Soon, her father’s symptoms would become increasingly apparent. Hiding his Parkinson’s would be impossible.
Good. His constant care, and the tremendous burden that came with it, were taking a toll on her, physically and emotionally. He needed help managing his symptoms beyond her limited abilities. Yet he refused to hire an experienced health care professional, convinced people in Mustang Valley would view him differently. Think less of him.
She wished he could see how wrong he was. The same people he feared would pity him had rallied to comfort the family and offer support during August Dempsey’s long illness. They would do the same for her father.
She blamed the damnable McGraw pride, which her father possessed in abundance. She, too, perhaps. Hadn’t she left town shortly after realizing she was pregnant with Blake Nolan’s baby, convinced people would talk behind her and her father’s backs?
“He was tired,” she explained to Raquel. “His arthritis has been keeping him awake at night.”
Her hostess sighed expansively. “I understand. I have my own complaints. Give him my regards, will you?”
“Of course.”
She patted Reese’s arm before gliding away.
Reese admired Gabe’s mother. While the sadness in Raquel’s eyes showed evidence of her grief and sorrow, she remained strong and stalwart. Perhaps, in a way, she was relieved at his passing. August had been in considerable pain at the end, and no one wanted to see their loved one needlessly suffer.
Funny they’d never married. August and his wife divorced twenty-plus years ago. Reese was curious. Reading the entirety of his will hadn’t provided any insight.
Sipping her coffee, she made her way to Cara Alvarez, who, by her estimation, was the one person with the least reason to dislike her. They had once been school friends, after all. Before the feud between August and Reese’s father severed their budding friendship.
“Hey, how you doing?”
Cara glanced up from the spot on the floor she’d been staring at. “All right.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
With her luxurious black hair and striking beauty, Cara might have been related to Raquel and not just the daughter she never had. One prominent difference was their eyes. While Raquel’s sparked with a wide array of emotions, Cara’s alternated between listlessness and despair. They had been that way since the tragic death of her toddler son two years ago.
“I hear you’re doing great things with the mustang sanctuary,” Reese said.
“I don’t know about great.” Cara shifted and resumed staring, this time out the window.
Was she remembering her son’s funeral?
Reese decided her former schoolmate wasn’t in the mood for conversation. “If there’s anything you need, feel free to call me or come by the bank.”
“Okay.”
She touched Cara’s arm before crossing the room. Feeling a prickling on the back of her neck, she turned and found Gabe staring at her from a far corner of the room. He stood by himself. No surprise, anger radiated off him in waves.
Reese squared her shoulders, refusing to wilt beneath the visual assault. She was at the ranch in an official capacity. Gabe and his family may not like the fact she was the trustee, but there was nothing they could do about it. August Dempsey’s last wishes would be honored.
Lifting her coffee cup in acknowledgment, she nodded at Gabe. He responded with raised brows and a look of surprise. How about that? She’d bested him. Surely it was a first.
Pleased with herself, she continued her casual stroll of the room. Hector was currently immersed in conversation with Raquel. From what Reese could discern, he was answering the questions she’d have gladly done if asked.
She’d certainly chosen a rough road to travel, though she wouldn’t have refused the assignment. Losing her credibility at the bank, and possibly her position, weren’t options. She needed a job with decent income and one that enabled her to be close to her father. Assistant manager of Southern Arizona Bank fit the bill perfectly.
Besides, she liked her job. And, if she said so herself, she was good at it.
Finishing her coffee, she started for the kitchen, planning to dispose of her cup in the sink. At the large archway separating the dining room from the kitchen, she paused. The strains of what was clearly a private conversation reached her ears from the other side of the archway and around the corner. It was between Josh Dempsey and his brother Cole.
“What am I going to do with one-third of the ranch?” Cole demanded irritably. “I don’t want it. I don’t want anything that belonged to him.”
“Let’s get our copy of the will and read through it,” Josh suggested. “The terms may not be ironclad.”
“You heard what the attorney said.”
Cole had understood correctly. The will was ironclad. August had been thorough, perhaps anticipating a conflict.
“Maybe
